


Snow Queen

by mssdare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dry Humping, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Holidays, Hotel Sex, Merlin Holidays, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 06:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17420978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: Merlin's stuck in a hotel room with Arthur’s sister Morgana, who terrifies him to death. He has always regarded her like the Snow Queen—beautiful, dangerous, fascinating and absolutely unapproachable. He’s also had a crush on her since… well, since forever actually. The last thing he needs is to spend more time in her presence._______Written for this prompt: Any of my pairings are stuck sharing a hotel room because of a snowed-in airport. They stay up all night talking, sharing personal stories, gradually falling in love.Merlin/Morgana





	Snow Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AJsRandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJsRandom/gifts).



> Dear AJsRandom! Thank you for your wonderful prompts! It was my first time writing Merlin/Morgana and I had great fun with it! I hope you'll enjoy this fluffy fluff! :)
> 
> Many, many thanks to my beta, who is a true goddess of words.

“I can’t believe that my stupid brother got to fly home and we’re stuck in this shithole,” Morgana fumes as she rolls her suitcase out of the Departures lounge and into the windy and snowy exterior of the airport.

Merlin hurries behind her, trying to keep up and failing, which is absurd, because he’s much taller than Morgana, has way longer legs, and doesn’t wear designer stilettos on his feet. It should be perfectly easy to catch up with Morgana, but he’s winded and panting when he finally reaches her at the last moment, just as she’s closing the cab door.

“Where did they say we’re going?” she asks, frowning, when he settles next to her in the back seat.

“Hotel Royal,” Merlin tells the taxi driver, or cab driver—he isn’t sure if they call it cabs here in the US, or taxis.

Morgana leans back in her seat. “I hope they have decent beds, and maybe a spa, because I’m exhausted after this airport drama.”

“I hear they’ve grounded all the flights due to the snowstorm?” the cab driver asks, and Morgana doesn’t grant him an answer, so Merlin takes over instead.

“Yeah, we were on the 6o’clock flight back to London and now they’re telling us nothing before morning at least. Our friend flew out two hours earlier, had a different flight booked, you see, because on ours there weren’t any Business Class seats, and his royal arse won’t ‘fly economy like an animal,’ mind you. So he’s already halfway home and we’re stuck here.” He realizes he’s babbling but he can’t control himself whenever he’s anxious, and he is anxious now because Arthur is on his way to London and he’ll be so pissed off when Merlin doesn’t show up in the office on Monday to keep Arthur’s schedule and run his errands. The thing is, he’s not only Arthur’s personal assistant, he actually manages Arthur’s _whole life_.

Not to mention that he’s stuck here with Arthur’s sister Morgana, who terrifies him to death. Merlin has always regarded her like the Snow Queen—beautiful, dangerous, fascinating and absolutely unapproachable. He’s also had a crush on her since… well, since forever actually. The last thing he needs is to spend more time in her presence.

It’s snowing heavily when they finally arrive at the hotel; the windshield wipers are struggling to clear the fat wet flakes. Merlin grapples with his and Morgana’s luggage, and then follows her into the lobby, where there’s already a small queue of tired and angry travellers at the reception desk waiting for their rooms.

“Hello,” Morgana says, smiling at the receptionist. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I believe I have a reservation.”

The travellers hiss at Morgana resentfully, but Merlin’s so cold and tired now, after hours spent at the airport, that he could kiss Morgana’s cheeks from the joy of having a room with a bed and hot shower.

“Mr and Mrs Le Fay,” the receptionist confirms. “Room 306, king-size bed.” And Merlin raises his brows.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he says. “We’re not married. We need two rooms, or at least a room with two beds.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” The receptionist shakes his head. “I’m afraid we’re fully booked now, what with the snowstorm, and this is all we can provide. Would you like to cancel your reservation?”

Merlin looks back at Morgana. She looks cold and tired too, even if still impeccably elegant. She rolls her eyes and says, “No, we’ll take it.” And at Merlin’s surprised expression she adds, “What, Merlin, you think I’m scared you’ll murder me in my sleep? I assure you I can defend myself.”

And Merlin can believe that. He exhales and stays silent as they get their key cards.

 

#

At least the room is nice—quite spacious, with white and beige furnishings and a truly gigantic bed. Merlin pushes his and Morgana’s suitcases into the hall closet where they won’t be in the way and goes to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Are you hungry?” he asks Morgana. They were supposed to eat on the plane, but—well.

“Yes,” Morgana says, rummaging in her suitcase to extract a giant purse filled with cosmetics. “Can you order a salad for me? And a nice white wine?” She brushes past Merlin to go to the bathroom, too.

“Sure,” Merlin mumbles to himself, because Morgana has turned on the water and won’t hear him anyway. Sure, of course, a salad and white wine. Salad is a safe choice, but the wine… Merlin has zero knowledge about wine despite Arthur’s efforts to teach him. He’ll just have to go with his intuition.

He orders a bottle called _Camelot Pinot Grigio_ because it sounds ridiculous enough.

 

#

They eat on the bed, perched on the pillows.

“Milady?” Merlin hands Morgana a glass of wine, because _noblesse oblige_ , and if they’re having a royal wine they should behave accordingly. 

“Why, thank you, Merlin,” she says with a nod of her head. “Will you be my servant tonight?”

Her lips are very red, eyes bright, almost translucent.

Merlin swallows and says, “I’m always your servant.” He hopes it doesn’t sound too tacky. Or too revealing.

Morgana takes a sip of her wine and Merlin supposes that it’s to hide a smile. “That’s actually quite decent,” she says.

Merlin pours a half glass for himself and tastes it, but it’s too strong and sour for him, so he scoops a few ice cubes from the wine cooler and throws them into his glass.

“Barbarian!” Morgana gasps, faking exasperation.

“I’m just a common man, milady.” Merlin bows in apology and crawls back up on the bed to sit by her.

They flip through the channels, settling on _Friends_ reruns because Morgana refuses to watch _Top Model_ and Merlin hates _Air Crash Investigation_ on Discovery that she’s interested in.

“If you get crumbs from that”—Morgana points with the remote control to a sweet roll he’s holding—“on my side of the bed there will be consequences!”

Merlin’s cheeks grow hot again, because he’s reminded that they are actually sharing a bed tonight and it’s making his blood boil even if the whole arrangement is totally innocent and without any sexual innuendo whatsoever.

“Right,” Morgana says after the silence lengthens and it gets slightly awkward. “I’m going to take a shower now. Would you be so kind as to take these away?” She points to the empty plates.

Merlin nods.

“Cheers. I hate to sleep with the smell of food lingering in the room.” She slips inside the bathroom while Merlin piles the plates and the remaining food on the cart and rolls it through the door and into the hall. He leaves the half-full wine bottle in the cooler by the bed; he’s never been much of a drinker, but perhaps Morgana would like another glass.

 

#

When Morgana comes out of the bathroom Merlin can’t stop staring. She’s wearing a loose white T-shirt and simple black cotton panties and her legs are insanely long and slim. She’s removed her makeup too, and without it she looks like a girl—so, so young, as if she’s eighteen instead of thirty. Her eyes are bright and very green, framed by naturally dark lashes, only a little shorter and lighter than while she’s wearing mascara. He skin is still flawless, pale and smooth, and Merlin wants nothing else but to cup her cheek and run his thumb over that delicate surface. She’d kick him in the balls for that, he’s sure.

“Help yourself, Merlin. It’s all yours,” Morgana says, and Merlin opens his eyes wide, stares in disbelief.

“What?”

“The bathroom. All yours.” She gestures behind herself.

“Right,” Merlin says. “Of course.”

He takes his shower, making sure to thoroughly wash _everywhere_ , because he’d hate to smell when he shares a bed with Morgana. He scrubs his armpits three times and checks his nails, ears, then even cleans his tongue while brushing his teeth.

He dons a fresh, if a bit wrinkly, T-shirt and boxer briefs before going back to the room. His hair is still wet, droplets of water trickling down his neck and wetting his T-shirt, but he won’t blow it dry it as he’d look like an old mop after suffering an electric shock.

Morgana looks at him for a long while and smiles lightly. She pats the bed next to her and he climbs up, thinking that this is way less awkward than he’d actually imagined it to be.

“More TV?” Merlin asks, grabbing the remote.

“Sure.” She nods, although she seems more preoccupied with her phone than whatever’s on TV right now. “I’m setting my alarm for a quarter past seven. We should get to the airport around nine?” she asks.

“Yes,” Merlin says. He actually needs way less time to get ready, but it could be tricky getting a cab in the snow. “God, Arthur’ll be in London before we even take off from here.”

“Arthur always gets the best things.” Morgana shrugs. She settles on her side and watches Merlin from underneath her lashes. “Tell me, Merlin, why do you still work as his assistant when you could be making a career of your own? You’re certainly experienced enough.”

“Ah,” Merlin says. He’s asked himself that very question so many times before and the answer is always the same. “I’m all right with what I do. I mean, sure, I started this job because I needed money to pay for my medical studies, but somewhere along the way I’ve discovered that—I don’t know how to say it so you don’t laugh—it just feels right, like it’s my _destiny_. I wouldn’t have been a good doctor anyway.”

Morgana doesn’t laugh at him, mercifully, and says instead, pensively, “I think you’d have had a wonderful bedside manner. There’s something generous about you, calming—now you’ll laugh but I’d say magical. But I guess if you’re happier doing what you do, it’s all good? We don’t always become what we thought we would be. And it’s not always a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not,” Merlin agrees. “Arthur can be a pain in the arse, but he’s a decent lad. He makes me feel… needed.”

“You do seem fond of him.” She looks tense suddenly, and her tone of voice suggests she expects Merlin to say something more.

“He’s my best friend,” Merlin says, and it’s the truth. There’s no one else like Arthur in his life.

“Oh, I thought…”

 She trails off and Merlin prompts, “Yes?”

She looks slightly uncomfortable or bashful, which is a strange look for her. “It’s just that—aren’t you gay, Merlin? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Merlin laughs. “I don’t mind, but—no.”

Morgana’s cheeks look slightly flushed. “It’s just that I thought that you and Arthur… You seem so hung up on him, at times.”

“Well, I do love him—prat that he is—but not in _that_ way.”

Morgana seems…relieved.

“Well, I can relate,” she says. “I mean, Arthur is great, but he’s also _a lot_. And for me it’s difficult to untangle some of the resentment I have towards him, because— Well, I’m a bad person, and I know it’s a bitter thing to say, but I’m jealous of him.”

“Jealous? How?”

“No matter what I do, Uther will never love me as much as he does him, you know? Uther looks at Arthur and sees his beloved late wife Ygraine in him. He looks at me and sees a mistake. The thing he had with my mother was never meant to be anything serious. She was a meaningless encounter after he’d lost Ygraine. A short fling to make him feel better, without regrets and attachments. And yet, here I am.”

“Uther is a… difficult man,” Merlin agrees. “But I don’t think he sees you as mistake. He always boasts to everyone how professional, talented, and hardworking you are.”

“If only he ever told _me_ that and not the strangers, huh? Or at least he could say something to Arthur, so my stuck-up brother doesn’t feel like he’s the only prodigy in this family.” Morgana bumps Merlin’s side with her elbow.

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “But I don’t think that Arthur has it easy with Uther, either. There’s a lot of pressure there, and I know that Arthur believes he’ll never meet Uther’s expectations.”

“Poor big brother,” Morgana tuts ironically, but then she sighs. “Although I suppose you’re right.” She scoots lower on the bed, settling on her side and looking up at Merlin. “What about you, Merlin?”

“What about me?”

“Do you meet your parents’ expectations?”

Merlin smiles. “When it comes to my mother, there are _no_ expectations.” They both laugh, but then Merlin waves and clarifies. “She just wants me to be happy. Well, that and a decent human being, but that’s a lost hope.”

“Yes, Merlin, you certainly disappoint on that field.” Morgana laughs and now it’s Merlin’s turn to shove her in the arm with a fake-offended huff.

Morgana’s green eyes glisten mischievously when she says, “Well, you do!”

Merlin makes the saddest face he can manage and Morgana laughs again. She looks so carefree like this, soft in a way, not at all like the stern PR director she is in her daily life. “And what about your father?” she asks.

“I wouldn’t know,” Merlin says lightly. “I’ve never met him and I don’t think he knows of my existence.”

Morgana’s soft fingers clasp around Merlin’s. It’s like a jolt of static shooting through Merlin, and he tries to remain calm but he can’t control the heat of a blush that must be visible on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Morgana says. “At least I, even when I was still living with my mother in France, have always known I had a father somewhere, and that he would take care of me if it came to that. Although, as my mother tells me, at first Uther wasn’t so keen on acknowledging me as his daughter.”

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to say, “I’m sorry.” He flips his hand and squeezes Morgana’s fingers in what he hopes feels like reassurance.

They fall asleep sometime after that, in the middle of the old version of _Total Recall_ with the sound muted on the TV.

 

#

 

Merlin wakes up to Morgana screaming. At first he’s sure that they’ve been attacked, or that she’s dying, that something horrible must have happened in her sleep. But then he sees that she’s dreaming and it’s a nightmare that she can’t wake up from.

Merlin shakes her arm. “Morgana, Morgana, wake up! It’s just a dream, wake up!”

She finally does, recoiling from Merlin on impulse, but when she realizes what’s happening she scoots closer, shaking, her breathing uneasy.

“Sorry, sorry,” she repeats, and how can Merlin explain to her she’s got nothing to be sorry about?

And then she starts crying.

Merlin reaches over and just scoops her up, hugging her close. She seems so small like this. She’s always been this divine entity to Merlin—tall, unreachable, distant. But here, in the semi-darkness of the hotel room, buried under the covers and hidden in Merlin’s arms, she feels fragile and soft, and in need of comfort.

“Shhh, I’m here,” Merlin says, even though it seems stupid. He cradles her closer and kisses the top of her head. Her soft hair smells like strawberries and peaches, and Merlin inhales deeply before kissing her hair again and repeating, “It’s all right, it was just a dream.”

After a while Morgana stops crying and they just rest there, with Merlin’s T-shirt soaked in her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again.

“Anyone can have a bad dream,” Merlin says. “God knows I’ve had plenty of them.” He remembers times when he woke at night shivering and sat with all the lights on in his whole apartment, TV blasting and a knife in his hand because he was convinced there was a dark knight coming for him with a magical sword in his hand.

“Yes.” Morgana sniffs. “But I have them _all the time_.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says and strokes Morgana’s hair.

It’s silent in the room, and in the dim light of the still-flickering TV everything looks a bit unreal. Now that Morgana’s nightmare has finally dissipated Merlin should let her go, but he can’t make himself do it. His heart is beginning to beat faster. He’s very much aware of Morgana’s breasts pressing to his chest.

When she shifts, he thinks that this will be the moment when she slides from his arms, but instead she lifts her face to look at him. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parted slightly, and Merlin feels hot all over because he wants to kiss her so badly he’s going to be the one crying now.

And then she cuts the distance between them and kisses him. She tastes like tears, her lips puffy and warm, and Merlin’s immediately lost in this kiss. He opens for it, closing his eyes because he can’t believe this is real, and if he’s not looking then maybe it won’t get taken away from him. The kiss lasts and lasts, their mouths moving gently against each other. When Merlin slips his tongue inside Morgana’s mouth she moans lightly and it’s all the encouragement he needs to push onto her until she’s on her back and he’s on top, his leg slipping between hers and his hands cradling her head on both sides.

They kiss and kiss, and then Merlin panics, moves back and says, “Oh God, sorry. Are you sure this is what you want? You’re upset and I shouldn’t have.”

Morgana grabs Merlin’s hair to stop him. “Merlin,” she says, and the way his name rolls on her tongue makes him weak and hard at the same time. “I never, ever do things that I don’t want. I thought you knew me well enough to know it.”

Merlin looks into her eyes. They’re almost black, all traces of light green gone in this light. “I just… don’t want to be that guy who preys on someone’s moment of vulnerability.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself. I know what I want,” she says. “And I want _this_.”

She pulls him closer and kisses him deeply and Merlin’s done for. He trusts her to know what she really wants. And she wants _him_. It makes him lose his mind a little. He grinds into her because he’s going to _die_ if he doesn’t do something, if he doesn’t get some pressure on his cock.

Her skin is smooth and hot when he allows himself to push his hands under her T-shirt. They both moan when his hand reaches her nipple. He runs his thumb over it, feeling it harden under his touch.

Morgana pushes him away and for a moment Merlin is frightened that he’s crossed some boundary, but when he gets what she’s doing he hardens even further, because she switches their positions and climbs atop of him, then reaches for the hem of her T-Shirt, pulling the fabric over her head.

There’s so much pale skin, smooth, beautiful. And her breasts— _Lord_ , Merlin wants to feast on her, worship her, be hers forever.

She looks like a Goddess, but when she whispers, “Merlin,” to him, he feels grounded and in the moment again, as if everything has aligned perfectly, and he can go on living.

She moves, grinding her hips on him, and it’s good, sweet and hot. And even though they’re divided by all the fabric he feels connected to her. He places his hands on her hips, then on her breasts again, feeling the gorgeous weight of them, pinching her nipples lightly, then he sits up to kiss them, lick them, bite them.

When he can’t stand the pressure any longer he meets Morgana halfway with thrusts, his hands slipping down, back to her hips and then to the front of her panties, which are wet already, and he can’t deal with this—he’s got to—he needs… He slips his fingers into her panties, moaning at the heat and all the velvet skin and soft hair he finds there. He rubs her clit, first gently, in small circles, but she grabs his wrist and then starts riding his hand and all he can do in order not to come yet is to bite his lips and try to focus on her face—so serious and beautiful in that moment.

She closes her eyes and parts her lips when she comes, sweet puffs of air escaping her mouth. And Merlin wants to take this moment and cherish it forever.

“You’re so beautiful, so beautiful. So hot,” he mumbles, and he thrusts up a few more times—one, two, three and he’s coming too, soiling his briefs, and he doesn’t care, he won’t care about anything in the world anymore because Morgana is leaning back down and swallowing his breaths, kissing him first hard and thirsty and then slower, sweeter as they both come down from their high.

She collapses on him then, warm and soft, and he wraps his arms around her, thinking he won’t be able to live without this anymore. He’ll be a hollowed-out piece of a tree without it. He’ll be nothing.

They’re almost asleep, first shakes of dreams coming upon them, when Merlin sighs and says, “Uh, such a mess. One moment. Give me… I need to…” He extracts himself from her arms and goes to the bathroom to clean himself up. He hasn’t turned on the lights, using only the glow from the TV in the room, and he cleans himself as fast as he can, wiping his stomach and cock, then crouching down to extract fresh underwear from his suitcase, glad that he’s packed more pairs than he thought he’d need.

Morgana’s asleep when he slips back under the covers, but she sighs happily and scoots closer, letting him wrap his arms around her, larger spoon to her small one.

“Sleep, my queen,” he whispers into her hair, and he kisses her head again. Come daylight things will be different, so he’ll take whatever he can, cherish this special moment with all his heart.

 

#

Merlin rarely wakes in the morning without complaint. Saying he’s not a morning person is an understatement. And yet he does wake up before their alarms go off, and he lies on the bed watching Morgana’s face. Her eyelashes flutter lightly as she’s dreaming but it seems like a pleasant dream, so Merlin doesn’t interrupt it. He wants to preserve this moment, this whole night, to have a Groundhog Day of this beautiful twenty-four hours with Morgana. He wants to kiss her little mole on her neck. He wants to hug her again and inhale the strawberry scent of her hair.

So he doesn’t dare move. He stays still and watches her and etches this moment in his memory forever.

But then Morgana’s alarm does go off and she opens her eyes, reaches for her phone to switch it off, and then rolls on her side again, facing Merlin.

“Morning,” she says.

“Morning,” Merlin replies. He’s afraid to smile. He doesn’t know how to breathe.

And just as he thinks that he’s going to die of asphyxiation, Morgana shuffles closer and snuggles him. She finds his hand and clasps it in her own, and somehow this feels way bigger than words, than a kiss, than anything else.

Merlin smiles and squeezes Morgana’s hand back.

Outside it looks like the snowstorm has not subsided but worsened instead. The clouds hang dark and low, as if enchanted by powerful magic. They can call the airport, but the chance that flights are operating again is slim. Merlin should check his messages; there must be a ton of requests waiting for his attention. It’ll be afternoon in London already, and Arthur’s annoyance at things slipping through his fingers without Merlin organising his schedule remotely for him must be _immense_. But Merlin really can’t make himself look at his phone. He reaches out to brush Morgana’s hair back from her face.

“It looks like we’ll be stuck together for longer,” he says.

“I’m quite all right with that,” she says, leaning in for a kiss.


End file.
